


savour every moment (slowly)

by M0stlyVoid



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftercare, Blindfolds, Dirty Talk, Do not post to another site, Edgeplay, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rope Bondage, Sex Toys, Spanking, Very mild breathplay, just a little
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:34:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23047852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M0stlyVoid/pseuds/M0stlyVoid
Summary: Draco's used to getting what he wants, when he wants it. Harry's the only one who's ever been able to convince him that sometimes, waiting can be worth it.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 67
Kudos: 529
Collections: HP Kinkfest 2020





	savour every moment (slowly)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks ever so much to tackytiger, jen, and the whole Drarry discord crew for the wonderful enabling/cheerleading! And to DragonGirl87, thank you for lighting up my brain with your delicious prompt ;D
> 
> Extra credit if you know where I got this title :)

“What if I just didn’t let you come.”

It takes Draco a minute to swim out from his own head enough to catch what Harry’s saying, but when he does, his eyes snap open- not that it does him any good, he can’t see anything through the blindfold.

“Wh-” His voice doesn’t sound like his- dry and crackling, raw-throated from harsh breathing. His lips are dry.

“Trying to say something there, Malfoy?” Potter’s trying to sound amused, Draco’s sure, but there’s a thread of breathlessness there. He’d feel smug about it, but Potter’s fingers crook just the smallest bit up and suddenly they’re pressing directly onto his prostate, _hard_ , and his brain whites out again for a minute.

“Nn…”

“Yeah?”

“Mmmmfuck you fucking _arse_ , I-”

“Not very nice, Malfoy.” And Draco could scream, really, because the fingers inside him move just the slightest bit off-target, and Harry’s other hand slows to an excruciating slide down his cock. “Maybe I really _won’t_ let you come.”

Draco licks his lips, trying to summon enough moisture to let himself talk, and hears Potter’s breath hitch up.

“Potter, I swear to all the gods, if you prat around for much longer down there, I’m going to rip you limb from limb.” There. Well, more or less- his voice is a lot more slurry than he’d like, but he’s confident the message came across.

“Big talk for a man tied down to the headboard, love. You really need to mind your manners.” Potter pulls his hand off Draco’s cock entirely, sliding it over to the back of his tensed thigh and digging his nails in. Draco yelps, thrashing his head over until he finds the edge of a pillowcase he can bite down on. The sheets under his back feel scratchy and too-warm with his own body heat.

“Stop that. You know I want to hear you.” The pillow is tugged away and his teeth come together with a _clack_. “Let go, love. Let go, and I’ll let you come.”

Draco hisses through his teeth and flexes his arms, looking for a weak spot in the charmed rope Potter’s got him all trussed to the headboard with- futilely, of course, the tosser’s knots are always done up to perfection, and all he achieves is the edges of the material digging further into his wrists. He’ll have red marks for sure. He presses his feet further into the mattress and tilts his pelvis up, trying to get Harry’s fingers to _move_ \- all he needs is a little more friction and he’s done for.

“Ah-ah-ah…” and Potter’s nails dig _in_ and drag down, stinging lines down his thigh that immediately burn with Draco’s own sweat. “None of that, now. You’ll get what I give you and nothing more.”

Draco’s mortified to hear himself _whining_ , high in his throat, but if it’s from the sting of the scratchmarks, the feel of Harry’s fingers slowly curling and uncurling inside him, the slide of other hand loosely circled around the base of his cock, or some combination of the three, he couldn’t say. He’s unravelling, he can tell, and what’s worse is that _Potter_ can tell too- he sounds unbearably smug now, and Draco can feel his eyes burning a path down his torso. _Fuck_.

Harry’s voice drops down to a near-purr. “I’m not gonna do that to you this time, though.” _What?_ “You’ll get to come, this time. We can talk about the other thing later-” _oh right_ “-but for now…” And as Potter’s voice fades out, Draco feels the pressure on his prostate increase again, just as the other hand moves back to his cock and picks up a real rhythm _finally_ , and he curls his toes into the blankets and yanks on the ropes and arches his back while he opens his eyes as wide as he can but he still sees nothing, nothing, all he can hear is his own ragged panting and then…

* * *

Later, after he’s cleaned off and Potter’s tucked him up against his chest, fingers running gently over his back, Draco brings it up.

“So…”

Potter yawns and tucks his nose into Draco’s hair. “Do you need anything else? More water?”

“No...no, I’m ok. There was something, though...you said, during…” Draco wrinkles his nose- he gets so loopy, after. He shrugs a shoulder up a bit and turns his face into Potter’s pectoral, biting gently over his nipple. (He gets a little toothy after, too.)

Potter swats him gently in the shoulder. “I said a lot of things, during.”

“Yeah...I meant the. ‘What if I didn’t let you come’, thing. That was...already, you weren’t doing that?”

Draco tilts his head back in time to catch Potter’s face flushing lightly. 

“Oh, right...that thing.”

“ _Yes_ , Potter, _that_ thing. So? How was that different exactly from what we were already doing?”

Harry’s quiet, taps his fingers idly back over Draco’s scapula and down, finding a gentle rhythm in the curve of his waist. Draco shivers just a bit.

“I guess I was just thinking...you seem to like it when I make you wait. During. You know?”

“I’m not so sure I’d say I _enjoy_ it, Potter-” Draco starts, aiming for snark and missing by a mile, but that doesn’t matter anyway because Harry pinches his side.

“I’m being serious, Draco. Please don’t joke around right now,” he requests softly, and, well, Draco’s no monster, so he settles in closer and makes an assenting sound.

“Thank you. OK, so, I was...you like it when I...put you off a bit, I guess. Make you ask for it, or push you until I can tell you really _can’t_ wait anymore. You know? So I was thinking...what if we ended things one day and...you hadn’t come yet. And I made you wait longer? Like until next time?”

Draco pushes himself up from his half-lounge, away from Potter’s body, to meet his eyes and treat him to the full breadth of his disbelieving expression.

“I’m sorry, Potter- you’re suggesting that I let you push me around and tie me up and _I don’t even get to come at the end of it_???”

To Potter’s credit, he matches Draco’s gaze head-on. “Draco. I know that you don’t like talking about this stuff, but _please_ don’t cheapen what this is by implying I’m _making_ you do anything, or that you’re just lying back and thinking of England the whole time. It hurts me when you do that. That’s not what this is.”

Draco flushes and drops his eyes to the bedspread. He can feel his shoulders hunching up to his ears, and he wants something in his hands to distract himself. “No, I...you’re right, I’m sorry. I just...I don’t know,” he mutters, darting a glance back up.

Harry’s watching him steadily, still, but his eyes have softened, and he reaches out and reels Draco back to his side, twisting just a bit so he can put both arms around Draco’s shoulders. “I know, love. You get so defensive so instinctively, still. I just wish you wouldn’t lash out at _me_.”

Draco buries his head briefly into Harry’s neck. “So anyone else is still fair game?”

Harry’s body shakes slightly as he chuckles. “Yeah, sure. Anyone but me seems like a fair trade-off. Good luck pulling that on Pansy, I’m sure she’d be delighted to sharpen those claws of hers on you.”

“So you want to, what, get me worked up and not let me do anything about it until later that night?” Draco abruptly switches the topic back to what Harry’d been trying to discuss.

“Sort of...later that night, or…” Potter’s voice trails off.

“Or…?”

“Well. I mean,” and oh, Draco does _not_ like that half-apologetic, half-eager tone. “I mean, what if instead of later that night, I made you wait until...the next day, or the day after?”

“ _Two days_????” Now Draco doesn’t like his _own_ tone- who knew he could get that shrill?

“Well! I mean. That’s not that long, right? I could, like...keep getting you worked up, and then we would just stop for a while...we could do it over a weekend so it’s not like you’d be at work or anything? Friday to Sunday? I’m not saying _never again_ or for weeks or something, that would be insane and I wouldn’t do that to you, but…” Harry sounds nervous, but under that, there’s a tone of excitement that Draco is definitely responding to.

He’s quiet for a minute, long enough to make Harry shift awkwardly. “Look, just think about it, will you, if you really hate the-”

“OK.”

“-idea of it we- wait. What?”

“Ok, Potter. We can give it a try. Just…” Draco takes a deep breath because he can feel his throat tightening up a little and that won’t do. “Just can you not leave me alone, during? I don’t...when we.” Another deep breath. “When we’re doing...that. I like when you’re touching me even if I can’t see you. I like knowing where you are. I don’t want to go home alone if we’re going to…” He gestures in the limited space Harry’s embrace allows him.

Harry’s arms get tighter. “Really?” he asks softly, restrained. “You’ll try it for me?”

“Why not, Potter. Whatever’s getting you all worked up must be worth giving a shot, hmm?”

Harry squeezes him tight once more, then moves Draco back so they can look at each other. His eyes are lit up and he’s got the smallest little smile, the one Draco loves, the one he usually only sees right when they’re done with...when they’re done. “Ok. Ok! Ok. Draco, this is going to- I think you’ll love it. I’ll make it so good for you, I promise. And-” He leans forward and kisses Draco softly. “-Draco, I’d never leave you by yourself, not when we’re doing this. Not ever. I promise, OK?”

Draco draws in another full breath. “Ok, Potter. Let’s do it. I’ll be at your mercy for two whole days.” He meant to sound sarcastic, but it comes out- breathy, needy, and he gets an up-close view of Harry's pupils dilating.

“Yeah?” Harry breathes in, reaching up and drawing one finger across Draco’s lower lip.

Draco swallows. “Yeah...but...can we maybe start next weekend? I…”

Harry pounces, pushing Draco down against the mattress. “Oh, _sweetheart_ ,” he rasps, leaning down to bite at Draco’s clavicle before sitting back up. He reaches back for a pillow and pushes it under Draco’s head before straddling his chest and pushing two fingers into his mouth.

Draco sucks, eyes fixed on Harry’s other hand, which is slowly tugging at his own cock. He tightens his lips and laps between Harry’s fingers, shifting his hips as he gets hard, looking for friction he knows he won’t find.

Harry groans, pulls his fingers free, and shuffles up Draco’s torso a bit more, until the tip of his dick is tracing Draco’s lips. His other hand moves around the back of Draco’s neck, thumb pushing into the hinge of his jaw. “Open up, love.”

Draco wants to close his eyes, but he keeps them open, trained on Harry’s face as he feeds him his cock, an inch at a time. He chokes as the head hits his soft palate and keeps pushing in. He can feel his eyes watering but he keeps his eyes open, watching on Harry’s face, and everything sounds far away all of a sudden, the rush of blood in his ears taking over, and his vision sparks and fuzzes at the edge, and…

* * *

Draco- doesn’t forget about it, as much as he puts it to the back of his mind. He has a demanding job, and a social life, and a mother who veers towards the hysterical if he doesn’t check in with her thrice a week, and a- and Harry, who likes to drop by Gringotts at all hours of the workday- surely a Deputy Head Auror shouldn’t have so much free time?- and grin at him from his own doorway, asking him to lunch and dinner and the next Ministry gala and to help him _shop for_ the next Ministry gala (an invitation Draco accepts with _relish_ ), and he simply doesn’t have the headspace to dwell on what Harry asked him to try.

And so next weekend passes, and the weekend after. He yells at two loan officers and one auditor, and sneers at the manager who, as Head of Investments, he outranks by a mile, _thanks ever so_. He meets Pansy for happy hour and trades vicious gossip and thanks Merlin that she’s got no sense of discretion with him, even if she keeps her tidbits anonymous in her weekly column. He sends his mother flowers and calls twice, takes her to lunch once. He sees Harry.

He sees Harry, and sees Harry, and sees Harry. They meet at the Leaky for after-work cocktails, and in Muggle London for before-work coffees, and Harry stays at Draco’s, or Draco at Harry’s. They get dinner and lunch and trade owls that are salacious, and owls that are dull, and one afternoon, owls that are all business (Draco can’t be expected to know what his clients do with their money _after_ he’s earned it for them, can he?). Draco drags Harry to Twilfit’s and bosses him and the tailor about for a few hours, Harry standing docilely and allowing Draco to drape him in vibrant jewel-toned swatches of cloth.

Harry doesn’t bring it up again. So Draco doesn’t either.

* * *

It’s three Fridays later, and Draco’s managed to coax Harry round to the Savoy for drinks after a hellish week for the both of them. That morning, he’d insisted Harry needed to try one of the new smart suits they’d purchased together last time, _final fit isn’t determined until you actually_ wear _something, Potter_ , and when he saw how dashing they looked together, well, there was nothing for it. Harry’d complained that it was _Friday_ , Draco, everyone dresses down at the Ministry, but Draco had pretended he didn’t hear anything while correcting Harry’s messy cross knot.

Draco’s eyeing that tie now over his wine glass. Harry’s loosened it and unbuttoned the top button of the lilac button-down Draco’d talked him into. He was right- it looks perfect with the pinstripe grey suit. He wishes Harry had left his jacket on instead of slinging it over the back of the bar chair, and he _definitely_ wishes Harry hadn’t rolled his sleeves up to his elbows.

Harry’s got a coupe glass filled with some light orange cocktail in his left hand- Draco thinks it might have amaro in it, and he can _definitely_ smell rum and grapefruit, but he flicks right to page 50 of the drinks menu every time he comes here, so he’s not sure what it is- and he’s gesturing with his right, agitatedly relaying some asinine order he’d had to hand down from Robards this afternoon. Privately, Draco’s convinced the Head Auror is foisting off unpleasant announcements on Harry on purpose because he knows how anxious the corps are for Harry to take over as Head, but for now he’s listening and offering sympathetic murmurs where appropriate.

Draco frowns a bit at his glass- as he was pouring the taster, the bartender assured him the Lafleur was a 2000, but he swears this tastes no better than the 2004 they’d been selling by the glass last month- and he’d foolishly been too distracted by Harry’s forearms to give the bottle more than a passing glance. He lifts a hand and leans forward slightly, and the bartender is there as if he’d Apparated.

“Sir,” the bartender acknowledges, a bit too eagerly. Draco eyes him appraisingly- younger than they normally hire here, and an unfamiliar face so he must be new- and oh, well that’s flattering, this young man is _definitely_ giving him the eye. Draco notes that Harry’s stopped talking and can almost hear his frown.

“Yes, thank you. Are you quite sure the Lafleur is a 2000, and if so, what temperature has it been kept at?” He keeps his tone clipped- an appreciative gaze is one thing, but it wouldn’t make up for this man meddling with his wine order. 

“Ah...I’d be happy to bring the bottle round again so you can check, sir, but I can assure you it was kept at a stable 15.5.” The bartender’s eyes keep darting over to Harry, and he almost looks frightened now. Draco represses a smile.

“Please do- and bring over a second one, same year, and a decanter while you’re there.”

“Well, sir-”

“That’s all,” Draco interrupts, smiling and turning back to Harry, who now looks amused.

“I think you’ve frightened him, Draco.”

Draco sniffs. “Something’s wrong with my wine. Either it’s the wrong year, the wrong temperature, or he poured it fresh without letting it breathe. I want to be prepared for all possibilities, Potter.”

Harry smiles indulgently. “Of course, love. I know how you-”

They’re interrupted by the bartender’s return. Draco takes a closer look at the open wine bottle, and- ah, there it is. He pins the bartender with a gaze. “You’ve opened a 2006 for me, not a 2000.”

The bartender starts to protest, but Harry leans over- bother, he’s in Draco’s favorite cologne, neroli and lime- and puts an index finger on the label. “Yes, see, this is a 6 and not a 0. Best mark this one down as a special and hand over the correct bottle.”

Flushed, the bartender stutters over apologies as he sets the decanter down on the bartop and opens the correct bottle. Draco waits patiently while he’s poured a fresh glass, and as soon as he confirms that _this_ is the correct vintage, he nods and the bartender scampers off.

Harry’s chuckling by the end of it. “Quite a production, Draco.” He leans forward a bit, posture suddenly intent. “I hope you enjoyed that bit of bossiness, there- it’s the last you’ll get for the rest of the weekend.”

Draco’s breath catches and he sets his glass back down. “You...I thought you’d…”

“Finish your wine, Draco. We’ll talk at home.”

Draco’s hand is _not_ shaking, so he picks the wine glass back up and redirects conversation back to Harry’s boss.

* * *

They stumble through Harry’s front door some hours later, laughing at nothing. Draco’s feeling loose- his face feels warm, his fingers are tingling, and he’s been smiling for at least an hour. Harry’s flushed and disheveled and soft around the edges, and Draco thinks he might-

Well. Either way, they’re back at the old Black residence together, and Draco can look his fill.

Harry shucks his outer coat and hangs it and his scarf on the coat rack before turning to help Draco’s off. He wanders down the entryway to the sitting room, and Draco watches him walk slowly, fingers trailing the wall.

Harry looks good at home- in _his_ home, now that he’s finally rid of the last of the Black family’s nastier heirlooms. He’s comfortable here, happy, and Draco likes to see it. Likes to be part of it, when he can. When Harry lets him. When Draco lets himself.

He follows along finally, and when he turns into the sitting room, Harry’s at the wet bar, pouring a second tumbler. The first one is smoking slightly- Firewhisky, then- and has two round ice cubes bobbing, because Harry insists on taking his whisky on the rocks. At least Draco’s finally gotten him buying Blishen’s instead of the swill he drank just after school.

Draco accepts the second glass and moves to stand facing the fireplace, swirling the tumbler idly and watching the smoke curl up and disappear.

Harry’s suddenly pressed up along his back, chin hooked over his shoulder. Draco shivers. Harry’s hard, he can feel it through their slacks, and one of his hands is curling around Draco’s hip.

His other hand runs up Draco’s back to the top of his polo neck. “You liked that bartender looking at you tonight, didn’t you,” Harry breathes in Draco’s ear, tugging down on the fabric. “I know you know he was watching you. Did you forget you’re mine to look at?” He drags his nose across Draco’s hairline to the now-exposed back of his neck, where he bites down.

Draco’s knuckles are white around his glass. “Potter, I…” His knees are buckling slightly.

“Hush, love,” Harry croons, before sucking harder on his neck. Draco’s skin has erupted in goosebumps, and he sets his whisky on the mantle over the fireplace before he loses his grip completely. “I’m sure you didn’t mean it, and I can’t say that I _blame_ him- but you’ll still make it up to me, won’t you?”

“Y-yes,” Draco whispers, their conversation from earlier suddenly crashing back to front of mind. He closes his eyes and leans slightly back into Harry’s embrace. They’re of a height, usually, but Harry’s in his good boots with a bit of a heel, giving him a slight advantage- and for once Draco doesn’t mind.

Harry buries his face in the jointure between Draco’s neck and shoulder and inhales. “You smell bloody incredible, you know. That sodding Floris cologne you spend too much money on suits you entirely too well. It’s all I can do to keep my hands to myself in public when you’ve got it on.”

“I wear this every day, Potter,” Draco says faintly. He’s getting too hot in front of the fire.

Harry smiles into his neck. “I know.” He tugs Draco back gently, turning him so they’re face-to-face. “Draco, I’d like to take you back to the bedroom now. I’d like to start that thing we talked about a few weeks ago. Is that OK with you?”

Draco watches Harry’s face for a moment- it’s open, searching, with the fire throwing harsh shadows over the planes of his cheeks and forehead. He takes a breath and nods faintly. “Yes. Yes, that’s OK with me.”

Harry smiles. “Well, then. Let’s go. It’s getting late- I’d like to get to bed at a reasonable hour yet, tonight.”

* * *

An hour later, and Draco’s face-down, arms stretched out in front of him, knees folded under his thighs. He’s sweating and every muscle in his body is tensed, with a fine tremor shaking through him on intervals.

“All you have to do is ask for it, Malfoy.” Potter almost sounds _bored_ , the prat.

“Potter, I-”

Potter’s hand swings down hard onto his skin with a _crack_. “That’s not asking.” He twists the three fingers he’s got buried in Draco’s arse, and Draco yelps. Swallows. Closes his eyes.

“Harry. Harry, please, will you...Please, Harry, will you fuck me? Please.”

He hears Harry’s sharp inhale. Feels his fingers pull out, quickly replaced with the slick blunt head of Harry’s cock.

“Exhale, love.”

Draco realizes he’s holding his breath and lets it out with a _whoosh_ , just as Harry pushes in with a low groan. Draco fists his hands on the bedspread and arches his back, pulling Harry deeper.

“Oh, Draco. You’re so tight. Fuck, you feel so good,” Harry pants, dancing his hands along Draco’s spine.

Draco’s got no words left. No thoughts, nothing but the pressure of Harry sliding into him, every inch opening him up more, making room. Making room for Harry.

“God, Draco. You should see yourself. You’ve no idea, do you? Ahhh _fuck_ , this isn’t going to last long, I’m sorry love-” Harry sets a steady rhythm then, hands tight to Draco’s hips, his breath growing louder and more punched-out the closer he gets.

And Draco- he’s got no friction, no stimulation on his own cock, but Harry’s rubbing over his prostate with every pass, and it might- be enough. On its own, just this, might be enough for him. He isn’t sure. He thinks he’s moaning.

“Oh, fuck-” and Harry’s voice is thick, his thrusts losing their steadiness, becoming short and shallow and _intense_ , until suddenly with a shout he presses his hips to Draco’s arse and comes. Draco shivers- he can taste it in the back of his throat, swears if he pressed on his stomach he could feel Harry coming inside him.

Harry pulls out carefully, but replaces his cock with his fingers before Draco can miss the feeling of being full. He uses his other arm to lever Draco up until his back is pressed up along Harry’s chest, slightly up on his knees so Harry can keep fingering him. He shifts his hips and keens. He’s so hard it’s starting to hurt.

Harry’s lips are at his ear. “You want to come now, don’t you? I bet you’d do almost anything right now, wouldn’t you.” He rubs over Draco’s prostate, almost too hard. “You’re hard enough right now to come without me even laying a hand on you, I bet. It’s just too bad about that bartender earlier, love. I don’t think you’ve quite made it up to me yet...so you’re just going to have to wait.” He pulls his fingers out.

Draco sways forward and clutches the arm Harry has locked around his chest. “Potter-!” He thinks he might be about to cry.

“Shh, Draco,” Harry gentles him down onto his back, onto the magicked-clean sheets, and runs his hand up and down Draco’s chest. Draco’s trembling, he can feel it, and he’s sweating still, but the air in the room is chilling goosebumps onto his skin, and he feels dizzy.

“Harry?”

“I’m here, sweetheart. Just here. Are you OK? Can you give me a color?”

Harry hasn’t asked for colors in- well, not since they first started whatever this was.

Draco licks his lips. “Green,” he chokes out, cracking an eye open- when had he closed them?- and meeting Harry’s worried gaze as he leans over him. “I’m OK. I just...I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? You seemed really out of it. We don’t have to do this, really-”

Draco opens both eyes now and narrows them upward, coming back to himself enough to respond properly. “Potter, if you’re not going to believe my answer, why bother asking me a question in the first place?”

Harry’s expression instantly relaxes and he looks down sheepishly. “You’re right, I’m sorry, just- this is a lot more than I expected it to be.” His eyes rove over Draco’s body, gaze resting on his still-hard cock - Draco glances down too, and winces at how red it is- it’s almost purple. He doesn’t feel as urgent and out-of-control as he had when Harry had his fingers inside him, though, so.

“Maybe I should be asking _you_ for a color, then,” he quips.

“Oh, green, without a doubt,” Harry says instantly with a smile, flopping onto his back next to Draco. “As long as you’re fine. Do you want a teeth-cleaning spell? We can shower in the morning…”

Draco’s not sure how exactly he’ll sleep tonight, but he nods and lays quietly while Harry fusses over him, letting him pull Draco’s pajama bottoms on and tucking him into the sheets. Draco curls around a pillow and watches as Harry moves to the bathroom for his own nightly ablutions, thankful he remembered to keep the door open so Draco can still see him.

Harry slides into bed, wrapping himself around Draco as soon as he’s under the covers. “ _Nox_ ,” he whispers, pulling Draco closer as the room plunges into darkness. Draco feels a gentle kiss along the back of his neck, which is throbbing from Harry’s earlier attentions.

* * *

He must fall asleep at some point, because he wakes up to his cock halfway down Harry’s throat. 

“Ohhh _fuck_ , Potter,” he moans, grabbing at Harry’s curls as soon as he’s cogent enough to figure out what’s going on.

Harry chuckles around his dick, and the vibrations run straight through his groin, making him shiver.

“I’m not sure- _ahhhh_ \- not sure what I did to deserve this, but you’re certainly not going to catch me complaining- _fuck Potter_!”

Harry pulls off with a pop and circles his thumb and index finger at the base of Draco’s cock. He whines and tries to buck up- he was so close!- but Harry’s hand is pressed to his lower stomach, holding him in place.

He pants for a while as he lays there, Harry doing nothing but rubbing his hand on Draco’s stomach, letting him calm down a bit. Finally, Draco throws his forearm dramatically over his forehead and groans. “Jesus Christ, Potter. You’re _quite_ sure you want to continue on with this? I’m not entirely positive I’ll be able to make it…”

“That’s why I’m here- to help,” Harry says cheerfully, crawling up to Draco’s face and kissing him hard. “Good morning. Did you like your alarm today?”

“I’ve a few notes for the manufacturers if they’re taking constructive criticism,” Draco grumbles, moving his arm and sighing heavily.

Harry laughs. “They’re not. Come on, it’s almost 10, and we’re meeting Ron and Hermione for brunch at 11- we need to start getting ready. We both need a shower, and I’m assuming you’ll want to pick what I’m wearing?”

Draco rolls to his side and watches as Harry gets out of bed and stretches, appreciating the view. Maybe he could-

Harry looks over his shoulder and arches one eyebrow. “Oh, and- don’t you dare get off in the shower. I’ll know if you do, and I’ll make you wait another two days before I let you come with me again. Do you think that’s worth it?”

Draco groans.

* * *

Brunch is absolute torture.

Harry keeps _touching_ him- a hand on his lower back, thighs pressed together, fingers swiping under his shirt at his waist. Just when he gets his heart rate back to normal and his dick under control, Harry’s back with more- if Draco didn’t know better, he’d suspect Legilimency of some sort, but no, Harry’s just absurdly in tune with Draco’s reactions. Bollocks.

After brunch, there’s grocery shopping, then Harry insists on dragging them both to Diagon to ogle the latest Firebolt model at Quality Quidditch- normally, Draco would be all for it, but today he feels itchy and restless, the crowds pressing in more than normal. He’s jumpy and tense and luckily Harry notices after no more than 20 minutes and takes them back home to Grimmauld.

Draco collapses onto the couch in the sitting room as soon as they step through the Floo. He’s been at least half-hard since his shower, and he can’t get comfortable. He’d read, but he thinks he’s too distracted even for that.

Harry sits on the couch and maneuvers them until Draco’s head is resting in his lap. He scratches Draco’s scalp lightly as he chats quietly about Appleby’s chances this upcoming season with the new Firebolt model, and if the League should continue allowing broom manufacturers to sponsor teams as it’s starting to give some of them an unfair advantage. Draco drifts, Harry’s words washing over him, and he falls into some sort of half-sleep as his body finally relaxes after the morning’s tension.

He’s woken some indeterminate time later by Harry pushing his shirt up as he kisses up his stomach. Draco groans, far too awake and far too hard, far too quickly. Harry’s knelt on the couch between his legs and he can feel his arm moving as he jerks himself off, and that’s-

“Let me see?” he croaks out, voice rusty from sleep. “Potter, please, Harry, let me-”

“Yeah,” Harry sighs, sitting back and quickly pulling off his trousers and pants. He sits up on his heels a bit and takes himself in hand again, slowing his strokes down as his eyes rove over Draco’s half-exposed torso.

Draco runs his hand up his chest, pushing his shirt even further up, and pinches a nipple, watching Harry’s eyes darken as his hand twists over the head of his cock. His other hand drifts down to his groin, but the second he starts palming his cock through his trousers Harry slaps it away.

“No,” Harry snaps, pinching his wrist tightly down at his side. “You don’t get to, yet. That’s mine until I say otherwise. Do you understand?”

“Yeah,” Draco chokes out, shifting his hips and pushing up into nothing but the feel of his pants against his cock and the too-tight press of his trousers. “Harry, it’s- the zipper-”

Luckily, Harry gets it right away, and takes a minute to unzip his trousers and pull them down, easing some of the constriction over his dick. His fingers brush over Draco’s shaft through his thin cotton pants for just a moment, but it’s enough to have Draco’s eyes rolling back in his head and his back arching.

Harry sits back on his heels and starts stroking himself again, eyes fixed on the growing dark patch on Draco’s pants. Draco can feel himself getting red- he’s _so wet_ , he’s not sure he’s ever gotten this wet before, not like this, and Potter’s just _staring_ , and all it’s doing is making him harder- he feels his cock twitch and hears Harry moan.

“Harry, please…”

“What do you want, Draco?” Harry pants, hand moving faster over his cock, adding a twist at the base that’s making his thighs tense, Draco can _see_ it.

Draco closes his eyes. Opens them, looks at Harry’s flushed torso, his hand fisting his own cock, his lower lip caught between his teeth. He bends his knees- awkwardly, since they’re on the couch and Harry’s crouched between his legs- and tries to scoot himself back. “Will you fuck my thighs?”

“OhJesusDraco,” Harry moans, scrambling back on the couch to let Draco bring his legs together. He casts a sloppy, wobbly lubrication charm that hits a Draco’s cock and a large portion of his stomach as well as the intended target of his legs, then hooks both Draco’s calves over his left shoulder before lining up and pushing between his legs.

They both groan- Draco can’t believe how loud he is, but Harry’s cock is gliding along the bottom of his own with each thrust, one of his hands is tight to bruising against his shin and the other up on his shoulder as Harry leans forward for a better angle, and all he can think about are these points of contact- shin, shoulder, wet between his legs. He lifts his neck up to catch Harry’s lips in an awkward kiss, until Harry puts his mouth to Draco’s neck and starts drawing bruises to the surface. Draco’s bent nearly in half, and he’s getting friction, sure, but it’s not where he wants it, it’s not _enough_ , but he thinks just maybe that’s ok, because Harry’s here, Harry won’t make him do anything he can’t…

It’s an odd sensation, being so incredibly turned on but still halfway checked out from reality. Draco’s not sure how long it is, but Harry’s tensing, hand spasmodically gripping at his leg and shoulder, and then he’s coming all over Draco’s dick, which is back to being so red it’s near-purple at the head.

Harry lets Draco’s legs down and rolls off onto the floor, wheezing slightly as he catches his breath. Draco holds perfectly still, eyes closed, hands cramping from how tight his fists are, biting into his lip, anything to keep from touching himself like he so wants to do, but Harry said no, Harry said he’d take care of it when it was time, and Draco just has to keep trying.

He focuses on his breathing, in and out, until the pressure in his groin abates enough that he can trust himself to move again. He can hear Harry slowly start to gather himself and stand up, and he reaches out blindly, catching Harry’s arm for a moment of contact.

Harry’s lips ghost over his forehead. “I’m going to get a flannel and some water. I’ll be back in just a minute, ok? I promise. Keep your eyes closed, and I’ll be right back.”

Draco waits, jaw tense, until he feels the damp cloth over his stomach and thighs. He lays there passively as Harry cleans him off, murmuring about how good he looked and felt. He lets Harry pull him up to sit, takes the water Harry hands him, drinks it, follows the pressure of Harry’s hands as he pulls Draco into a warm embrace. He’s shivering, Draco notices absently, and Harry must notice it too, because suddenly the heat from the fire is hotter. Harry pets down his back and whispers nonsense sounds into his ear until Draco feels like he can sit on his own.

“Fuck,” he whispers, scooting back on the couch and pulling one of the blankets around himself. “Fuck, Harry.”

Harry’s watching him warily from the other couch cushion, one knee pulled up to his chest. He’s worrying at his lower lip. “Alright?”

Draco rolls his neck, trying to stretch out some of the tension in his muscles. “Yeah. Yeah I’m fine, just...I’m starving? And, Potter…” He stands slowly, letting his legs get used to bearing weight again. “...you better not touch me for the rest of the night unless you’re going to make me come.”

Harry nods frantically, leaping to his feet and hovering as Draco drags himself towards the sitting room table. “Yes, of course. OK, I’m going to...do you want anything in particular? I can make pasta, or we can do a takeaway...what do you want? Anything, I’ll get you anything you want.”

Draco chuckles, resting his arms on the table and dropping his forehead down. “I’d certainly hope so, Potter. Can you order a pizza? I’m not sure I’m up for anything more complicated…”

Harry wrings his hands. “Yeah, ‘course. I’ll just...ok, the phone is in the other room? I’ll go get it and be right back, ok? And I’ll bring you another water- or do you want some wine? Whisky? I think I have some beer left…” He’s babbling.

Draco puts his hand on Harry’s wrist, stilling him. “Water’s fine, Potter. Please order the food first, though.”

“Right. Right, ok. I’ll be back in a tick!”

They sit in silence until the food arrives, Draco drinking from the glass that Harry keeps obsessively refiling. Once he’s got some food in his stomach, Draco’s feeling a lot more like a real person again, and lets Harry lead the conversation about brunch, and Ron and Hermione’s latest argument on a third baby, and the gala next weekend, with Draco chiming in as needed.

True to his word, Harry doesn’t touch him the rest of the night, until they’re in bed, when he curls himself carefully around Draco’s back like they always do, after a whispered ‘this ok?’ and Draco’s confirmation. He rests his hands on Draco’s stomach and burrows against the back of his neck, breath warm and humid.

It’s quiet in the bedroom, and Draco finds it easier to fall asleep tonight than last night.

* * *

Sunday morning is- tense, at first. Harry brings Draco tea and toast in bed and then just- stands there, watching him eat, until Draco snaps at him to either get back in bed or go do something else. Harry huffs at that and sulks over to the armchair in the corner of the bedroom, which unsettles Draco so much that as soon as his teacup is empty he’s over there, sitting in Harry’s lap and grinding down, kissing him until they’re both gasping. Just when Draco’s thinking that maybe he’s made it, maybe this is over, Harry pushes him back enough that their torsos aren’t in contact anymore, and they just breathe in each other’s faces for a minute.

Finally, Draco pushes himself back up and heads to the shower. He turns the water on and soaps his body up, wrinkling his nose at the leftover lube that Harry missed last night.

Just as he’s about to start shampooing his hair, the shower door opens and Harry slips in, immediately kissing along his neck in a way that makes Draco sigh and relax forward against Harry’s body.

“I had an idea, for today…” Harry says softly, and Draco suddenly sees the small plug Harry’s got in one hand. He pulls back, eyeing it warily.

“Alright, Potter, out with it. What?”

“Well, I thought...maybe, while we’re listening to today’s matches, you could wear this. And then after the Tornados play, we could be done.”

It’s Sunday, Draco remembers again, which is when they listen to whatever Quidditch is on the Wireless, drink beer, and argue over which players are better until it devolves into either shouting or sex- sometimes both. Today there are two matches- Ballycastle at the Cannons, the two lowest-ranked teams in the league and likely a short game, and Montrose at Kenmare, which promises to be more exciting.

Draco bites his lip and takes the plug from Harry’s hand, examining it as the water sprays down over them. It’s relativley small, but curved enough that he knows that if it’s not pressing directly on his prostate the whole time, it certainly will whenever he moves. Harry’s watching him with shining eyes.

“I can...try. But Potter, you have to promise me, if I need to stop, if I can’t do it...we have to stop.”

“Of course, Draco,” Harry vows instantly. “Of _course_. Thank you, love. Thank you.”

Draco believes him.

They’re kissing again, then, and Draco groans as Harry carefully opens him up and slips the plug in- he was right, even the smallest motion has it moving over his prostate, lighting him up but not giving him enough to actually finish the job.

The first match isn’t so bad- Draco finds a half-lounging angle that gives him some relief, and he gets used to the sensation of the plug enough that he can tune it out for the most part. He and Harry spend the late morning razzing both teams and groaning at each terrible play as they’re announced, coming up with rude versions of the team chants and bad puns from the player puns. It’s- well, it’s one of Draco’s favorite parts about spending time with Harry, to be honest, and now that he’s feeling the most like himself for the first time since Friday evening, he can identify what this is.

It’s love. Draco’s in love with Harry, and he’s pretty sure- mostly sure- Harry feels the same. The amount of care Harry’s been showing him the last few days- well, he’s fairly confident that if Harry were still thinking of this as something casual, something to pick up and set down at will, none of this would be happening in the first place. They haven’t really _talked_ about this, per se, but- Draco thinks, maybe, that’s a conversation he could stomach without immediately trying to deflect it, later this week.

He hits trouble once the Bats beat the Cannons and Harry pops down to the kitchen (after a reassuring kiss) to grab some snacks. With nothing to distract him, Draco starts shifting, focusing more and more on the feel of the plug brushing against his prostate. His breathing is getting heavier and he can feel himself flushing, a slow crawling heat up his neck.

By the time Harry’s back, a plate of chips in one hand and a fresh six-pack in the other, Draco’s sweating and can’t stop rocking back and forth. It’s a horrible tease, a _not-quite-enough_ that’s driving him mad, and he meets Harry’s eyes in desperation.

Harry immediately sets everything down and is crouched at his side, a hand on the back of Draco’s neck. “Are you OK?”

Draco gasps, “Bedroom. Can’t. Harry, please?”

“Yeah,” Harry breathes out, standing up and pulling Draco to his feet. He hustles them back upstairs to the bedroom, and as soon as he gets Draco on the bed he’s on top of him, kissing frantically everywhere he can reach. “God, Draco, you’ve done so well- can’t believe- you’ve been so _good_ \- so gorgeous, let me-”

“Anything,” Draco gasps, tilting his head and baring his throat. “Anything, Harry. Anything you want.”

Harry mutters something and suddenly all their clothes are gone, and Draco can’t even find it in himself to protest, because the feeling of Harry’s bare skin against him is almost enough to set him off. He groans loudly and writhes under Harry’s body, desperate now for friction, hissing out whenever the toy hits his prostate.

Harry rolls them so Draco’s on top, then reaches down and grabs the plug, pulling it half out and then pushing it back in, and Draco _wails_.

He looks down- Harry’s red, mouth dropped open, eyes almost completely pupil. He looks _wrecked_ , and if that’s what Harry looks like, Draco doesn’t want to be anywhere near a mirror in the near future.

He leans down and kisses Harry desperately. He’s beyond words, now, beyond anything but the feeling of his cock sliding against Harry’s stomach, the toy pushing directly into his prostate, Harry’s free hand scratching down his back.

Harry finally pulls the plug out and tosses it off the bed, rolling them again so he’s on top, settled in between Draco’s legs. He casts a lubrication charm and slicks himself up slowly, watching as Draco’s eye lock onto his hand’s motion. “Are you ready, love?”

Draco whine and arches, trying to push his pelvis up further. Harry chuckles lowly and runs his free hand slowly up Draco’s torso, coming to a rest at his throat. He squeezes softly, then angles his cock to Draco’s hole.

It’s tight- no matter he’d spent all morning with a plug up his arse, it was _significantly_ smaller than Harry’s dick, and while there’s no pain, the pressure Draco’s feeling is overwhelming. He’s gasping for air, pulling in great gulps and scrabbling for something to hold onto. Tears are springing to his eyes as Harry pushes in, slowly, but not stopping to give him time to adjust in stages.

When Harry bottoms out, he stills, breathing harshly, and looks down at where they’re connected. “Jesus, Draco,” he says, sounding strangled, even as his hand tightens around Draco’s throat again. “You are so _fucking_ tight. Every single time, you’re this tight. I should put a plug in you every day, let you walk around with it, keep you open for me all the time- would you like that?”

Draco wouldn’t, not really, and he knows Harry wouldn’t either- but he finds himself nodding frantically, one hand coming up to rest on top of Harry’s at his neck and pushing down just a little.

“You like that too, don’t you,” Harry says, looking slyly at Draco’s throat. “You’ll choke on anything I give you, my fingers or my cock or just- like- this-” he punctuates his words with squeezes, and Draco’s sobbing now, he doesn’t know when watery eyes turned into true tears but there it is, he’s crying and thrashing and Harry. Won’t. Move.

Harry watches him for a moment longer, excruciatingly still, sweat beading on his forehead, until he finally starts to _move_ , long deep thrusts in and out that finally put real pressure on his prostate.

His hand leaves Draco’s neck to drop to his suddenly-slick cock, and when he wraps his hand around it and starts to move, Draco _screams_.

He finds his voice again at some point, begging for Harry to fuck him harder, let him come, _please please_. Harry’s pistoning hard into him now, and his hand slowly starts moving faster and faster, and Draco feels _dizzy_ , he’s delirious with how badly he wants to come, and-

Harry sets his teeth against Draco’s neck. “You can come whenever you want,” he says lowly, speeding up his hand even more, and that’s it.

Draco thinks, later, that he must have blacked out for a moment. His vision goes white with starbursts, and he can’t hear, and he knows his mouth is open but he’s got no idea if he’s actually making noise but his throat hurts, and his back is arched up, glutes clenched, and it’s so screamingly intense that it almost _hurts_.

He’s floating back to earth, body feeling like it weighs a thousand pounds, and hears Harry chanting “-uck, fuck Draco holyfuck that was so hot, holy fuuu _uuuuuuu_ ck!” and then Harry’s pushing into him again and coming too.

All Draco can do is blink up at the ceiling. He’s filled with an immense lassitude that seems to preclude any movement at all, so Harry has to manipulate his legs for him when he pulls out, has to wipe down Draco’s chest and stomach and, christ, some of it hit his neck?, has to roll him over to clean the sheets, all with absolutely no participation from Draco at all.

Finally, Harry’s climbing under the blankets with him, tucking them into a nest and wrapping all his limbs around Draco’s body, breathing harshly into his neck. “God, I love you,” he whispers, then Draco feels him freeze.

Draco licks his lips. Clears his throat. Burrows himself closer to Harry’s body, curling into the warmth. “...I love you too, Harry.”

**Author's Note:**

> Like Draco, I enjoy my wine- so if there are any typos or missing tags, please drop a comment!
> 
> my tumblr is [here](https://bonesliketambourines.tumblr.com/)


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